“Case of map again,” quoth the Shark. “House indicated somewhere ’round here. Course, I didn’t pay the same attention to it that I would to something that really mattered. But if you’d like to hunt it up, I’m willing enough to hunt with you.”
“I’d very much like to!”
The Shark glanced about him. He furrowed his brow reflectively.
“Let’s see, now! Farther along it was. Yes, and off to the left, I should say—away from the river, that is. Um, um!... Hullo! What’s that?”
The “that” had been a sound, faint and far off, but easily to be known as the whistle of a locomotive. Varley said as much, and said it a bit testily; the rain was seemingly growing heavier every minute, and he was becoming impatient to seek shelter.
“Umph! I knew that, too—any chump’d know it,” growled the Shark. “But was it from a main line engine or one of the old machines on the branch?”
Paul stared at him. “What difference——” he began hotly; then changed his tone. “Say, you don’t mean to tell me you know all the engines by their whistles?”
“No; not all of ’em—my ear isn’t true enough,” the Shark confessed. “I know a fellow, though, who can spot every last one as far as he can hear it. He’s got absolute pitch.”
“Eh?”
“If he hears a sound he can tell you what’s the note—something like that, anyway. Bully thing to be able to do! Still, you don’t have to have the knack to get a lot out of music. I’m going in for music, by the way, when I have time.”